Fine Art Friday: Robert Colescott

Robert Colescott, Eat Dem Taters, on display at the
Contemporary Art Center in Cincinnati, Ohio.

Hey there! A while back I shared a really special project I was involved in at work, Arts and Accessibility: Robert Colescott at CAC.

I had the amazing opportunity to write detailed descriptions of ten artworks from "Art and Race Matters: the Career of Robert Colescott," an exhibit which opened in September, kicking off the 2019-2020 exhibition season at the Contemporary Art Center (CAC) in downtown Cincinnati. This exhibit consists of 85 works Colescott created over his 53-year career. 

The descriptions I wrote were narrated and recorded by a couple of coworkers who work in audio. I loved this chance to work closely with these passionate, highly skilled people, who also happen to be a lot of fun to work with!

The resulting audio recordings, along with recordings of all of the exhibit wall-text, was loaded onto mp3-players. These mp3-players and some hard-copy braille booklets were made available for any blind or visually-impaired (BVI) visitors at CAC.

Next month (January 2020) the exhibit and BVI-accessible materials will be traveling to Portland, OR, followed by a few other cities around the US. I love the fact that our hard work will benefit blind people across the country!

Now, as promised, I want to share a little more about Robert Colescott and his art. 

Robert Colescott, 1919. Acrylic on Canvas, 1980. 

191If you haven’t heard of him, rest easy. I hadn’t either. 

I think it's safe to say most people are familiar with just a few of the very most famous artists in history: Leonardo da Vinci, Vincent van Gogh, Michelangelo, Pablo Picasso.

If you go to the occasional art museum, you may also be familiar with Edgar Degas, Georgia O'Keefe, Jackson Pollock, Frida Kahlo, Paul Cezanne, Rembrandt van Rijn, Claude Monet, Salvador Dali, or Andy Warhol.

Compared to these names, Robert Colescott is an unknown. But take a look at the New York City arts scene in the 1970s and '80s, and you might find his name cropping up a bit more. 

Colescott was an African-American artist from California. He passed away in 2009, at the age of 83. His best-known works are Eat Dem Taters and George Washington Carver Cross the Delaware, both of which are new renditions of earlier famous paintings by other artists (Vincent van Gogh and Emanuel Leutze, respectively).

Robert Colescott, Eat Dem Taters. Acrylic on Canvas, 1975. 

Eat Dem Taters was my first solo stab at describing. It is based on The Potato Eaters by van Gogh, but in the place of impoverished Dutch coal miners, Colescott painted stereotypical "happy darkies." This is classic Colescott: taking a familiar image and filling it with imagery that strikes discomfort, pain, and horror over appalling subjects like racism. 

I'll be honest: at first, I was not a fan. I didn't like his style and I didn't like his subject matter. 

I'm still not a major fan of his style, and that's okay. I can appreciate the skill, effort, and care his painting required, without loving the technique. But now that I understand his work better, the common subject matter, and the manner with which he presents it, has grown near and dear to my heart. Colescott's combination of frank humor and gut-wrenching imagery is a one-two punch that has become mesmerizing to me.

Robert Colescott, George Washington Carve Crossing the Delaware. Acrylic
on canvas, 1975. 

No one likes looking at things that make them feel uncomfortable or guilty. And for many people, racist imagery is extremely uncomfortable. As it should be! No one should feel comfortable looking at something that demeans others! 

It’s horrifying that the blackface and "happy darky" imagery he used is from real cartoons, made by people who look like me. 

Even more appalling is seeing these images larger-than-life on ten-foot canvases, in garish colors and exaggerated poses. 

As an African-American man, Colescott made it his mission to create satirical, racially-charged paintings to create discomfort. He painted these things to force people to think about race, sex, inequality, discrimination, systemic racism, and what these things are doing to individuals, communities, and the world at large. He wanted to spark conversations, spark emotions, and most importantly, spark fires under the seats of those untouched by racism.

Cesar Cruz, Mexican poet and human rights activist famously said, “art should comfort the disturbed and disturb the comfortable.” 

Robert Colescott, Colored T.V. Acrylic on canvas, 1977.  

Colescott's work is disturbing for everyone, no matter their race, sex, age; whether they're comfortable or uncomfortable. The comfort of Colescott's art lies in the opportunity for open and heartfelt communication. 

A month or so after the exhibit opened, I toured the exhibit with a group from work. We were a large group, some 15-20 individuals, and a mix of blind, visually impaired, and sighted. 

It was amazing to experience this exhibit with my BVI coworkers, listening to descriptions before discussing how we felt about each work. Several of those in our group were also people of color, and it was truly special to hear these people share how they felt about the art and the painful history behind each piece. 

One painting that struck a major chord is called Listening to Amos and Andy. This painting is based on the old radio show Amos and Andy, a comedy about two black men from Atlanta who move to Chicago for a fresh start in life. It follows their friendship, struggles, and the development of their taxi company. 

Sounds perfectly nice until you learn that the show was created, written, and performed by two white men. 

From there, things go straight down-hill. After looking at (and listening to a description of) Colescott's painting, we listened to a clip from the radio show. Just a few minutes long, the clip was exactly what we all expected: 4 minutes of racist stereotyping, delivered by two white men using "black voices." 

Robert Colescott, Listening to Amos and Andy. Acrylic on Canvas, 1982. 

This painting led to a great discussion about representation and racism in the media. For BVI individuals, the issue of representation hits home because blind actors are few and far between. Most blind characters are played by sighted actors. And for those in our group who were African-American, this painting was especially jarring. 

The first time I heard of Colescott was when I was tasked with describing his art. Being a white woman working in a style of writing entirely new to me, I was suddenly extremely aware of my phrasing in these descriptions. Every time I pulled up one of the curator's hi-res photographs, I found myself battling both white guilt and the fear that I might mishandle any of the subject matter. 

Robert Colescott, Le Demoiselles d'Alamaba: Vestidas. Acrylic on
Canvas, 1985.

Looking at Colescott’s art with my black coworkers was awkward at first, but discussing it together also eased my mind. 

We acknowledged together that the subject matter was disturbing and offensive for all of us, that these paintings brought to mind worldviews, art, and events that we all desperately wish had never happened. We experienced a wide range of emotions together, and some of us even cried together as we looked at these paintings. 

It would be foolish and naïve for me to say that I’ve never made a racially-based judgement or decision. I’m aware that I grew up benefiting, and continue to benefit, from a society filled with systemic racism. 

I fervently wish that weren’t true, but pretending it doesn’t exist is a mistake white people have been making throughout history. Racism is everywhere, from the justice system to the arts, and the only way to make things right is to acknowledge the harm done and then to do better. 

It was good to see these emotionally-charged paintings in person, and to discuss as a group how bad things were in the past, how much society has changed, and how far we still have to go before everyone can truly be equal. It's a long way, but each step is another step away from a long history that must never be repeated.

As both a year and a decade come to an end, it's only natural to take a look at where we are as individuals and as a society. It's a time of examining our values, habits, and growth across the years and decades. What did we look like ten years ago, when Robert Colescott passed away? What did we look like 100 years ago, on the verge of the Roaring '20s? What might we look like ten years from now, in 2029, or 100 years from now? 

The arts demonstrate society's values and habits, and upholding work like Colescott's is necessary for us to continue growing together. 

-Cailey

Fog Girl: The Most Wonderful Time of Year

The most wonderful time of the year.

It's something we say, rather flippantly, pretty generally, about the Christmas season. As if the days, themselves, are better by default. And in some ways, they are. As the famous Christmas song says, it's a time for family gatherings, parties with friends, enjoying delicious foods, and well-wishing in general. For students, it's a time without classes or responsibilities. No complaints there!

"It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year" was released in October, 1963 by Andy Williams, mere weeks before the assassination of John F. Kennedy. Racial tensions were high that year, as Dr. Martin Luther King lead protests in Birmingham, and gave his famous Dream Speech on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial. It was the middle of the Cold War, US troops were on the ground in Vietnam, and tension permeated every aspect of society. You might say there wasn't a whole lot of wonderful happening that holiday season.

1963 and 2016 have a few things in common, between political uproar, race-related violence, and ongoing conflicts around the world, particularly the War on Terror. 

It's the most wonderful time of the year! But there's a sense of melancholy that goes just as deep, if not deeper, than politics, social justice, and war. You know what I'm talking about; you've felt it, or seen it. It's more than the stress and expense of shopping for gifts. It's the question of whether to bother buying them, or whether there will ever be someone to buy gifts for. Lost loved ones, past traumas, and family conflicts become most painful during the holidays. Like the song, we all like to gloss over such shadows around this time of year, but in reality those painful parts become the hardest to ignore.

It may be the most wonderful time of year, but it's also the most difficult. 

I drew this quiet little piece a while ago, set it aside, and didn't look at it again for a long time. It wasn't big, fancy, or flashy. It drew no attention. But as I was going through my things recently, pulling together some pieces for an art event, I stumbled upon the little 8"x10" pastel on mattboard.

Again, I set it aside. It didn't fit the themes in my arrangement. It has no bright colors (no colors at all!), no grand compositional features, and none of the crazy materials in my collage/mixed media work. It's barely a finished piece!

I came across it once again yesterday, while photographing my recent work (to be shared here, eventually, love ya!). And finally, it struck me. This little one,  hardly even a finished piece, can mean a whole lot this time of year. 

It's about what this season is entirely dependent on. Love. Without love, the shadows can overtake everything. Love is what holds the darkness at bay, and allows us to experience the joys between the dark times. 

If you're familiar with sign language, you'll see that the Silhoeutte Girl is crossing her wrists over her chest in the ASL sign for "love".

When everything is foggy, clouded, and unclear, dreary and drab and lonely, there is still love.

This barely-finished, smudged and imperfect little drawing demonstrates it perfectly. Love doesn't take much, and it doesn't require an intact family or a romance worthy of a Nicholas Sparks movie. Love is kind words to a cashier at the end of her stressful shift. Love is taking a woman's cart to the cart corral after she's put all her purchases in her car, tipping your waiter a little extra, and buying a coffee for the man on the street corner. Love is offering to walk your neighbor's dog, or babysitting for your coworker so she and her husband can go on a much-needed date.

The holidays are in full swing. Christmas was two days ago, and this weekend we celebrate the beginning of a new year. There's a lot of uncertainty in the air, A lot of fog and smudges. But if we all work together, maybe our love can show up strong and clear through the fog. 

Have you shown or felt some of that simple, smudgy love this holiday season? Comment and tell me about it! If you're in need of some love, comment below or hop over to the Contact Me page and let me know.

-Cailey

Mutual Lament

A couple weeks ago I had the privilege of joining a few ladies of multiple races and backgrounds for a very respectful but eye-opening discussion on race and the racial problems in the United States. It ended up being one of the best discussions I've ever been a part of. 

I heard a lot of things about African American culture and history that I, as a white, middle-class American girl, have never heard or experienced. The ladies shared stories about racial discrimination that were heart-breaking for me to hear. I know racial discrimination exists; I'd have to be living under a rock not to. But to hear stories from people I know, stories that happened in my hometown, was very eye-opening for me. 

Finally, the big question was asked: how can things change? And more importantly, how can we change things?

The leader of our discussion, a brilliant African American woman with years of education on African American history and culture, and a great love for God, said this:

Mutual lament. 

I love those words--mutual lament. The moment I heard them, I knew I had to draw it. 

Mutual Lament

And this was what I pictured; this image of deep loss and pain, with different ages, races, and backgrounds coming together. Most importantly, an old woman, a police officer, a child, a young woman. So many different stories could be present. A multitude of stories. Four people, with a crowd behind them, all standing in mutual lament before this grave.

My friends, protesting is not the way to end this. Looking down upon the protesters is not the way to end this. Living under a rock is not the way to end this. Condemning those who know less than you is not the way to end this. Composing angry blog posts, Facebook posts, or tweets is not the way to end this. Guilt is not the way to end this. Killing people is not the way to end this. 

Empathy is the way to end this. Love is the way to end this.

-Cailey